


Coming Back For You (Don't You Worry Girl)

by FelOllie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Jealous Oliver, Lazarus Pit, Malcolm Merlyn is the worst, Post-The Climb, Protective Felicity, Roy Harper/Felicity Smoak Friendship, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelOllie/pseuds/FelOllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-The Climb AU - What if Oliver really had died on that mountain ledge? What if Malcolm found him and brought him back by way of the Lazarus Pit? </p><p>What if Oliver came back, but he came back wrong?</p><p>____</p><p>Oliver returns to SC after coming back from the dead, but he's missing one extremely vital part of himself: His emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my lovelies!
> 
> So, this entire fiasco can (once again) be blamed on [Phenioxgirl](http://phenioxgirl.tumblr.com/) and her favorite pastime: Sending me scenarios that ultimately lead to us fic screaming at one another until I actually sit down and write the thing. A million, billion thanks to her for listening to me ramble and for always unsticking me whenever my brain gets stuck. This fic wouldn't exist without her :)
> 
> I'm going to warn you now:
> 
> 1) This will be seriously angsty, but it will all work out in the end.  
> 2) No matter what the Rolicity says, this fic is Olicity endgame. (I just have a lot of feelings about Roy and Felicity's friendship.)  
> 3) The rating is gonna go up later on.
> 
> Fic title from the song _Coming Back For You_ by Maroon 5, because it fits this story to a T.
> 
> Enjoy the Olicity pain.

Oliver Queen spent nearly a month presumed dead.

Everyone thought it was true, had no evidence to contradict Merlyn's word. Even after spending night after night searching for something, _anything_ that pointed toward Oliver being alive somewhere, his team hadn't made any progress. Despite Felicity scouring every inch of the internet for a lead, tracking his credit cards and keeping the facial recognition software running on an almost constant search, there was no sign of Oliver anywhere.

Three weeks passed without him there. Each day felt longer than the last, each night spent by the bright, artificial light of her monitors. Roy and John both watched over her, never telling her that her search was pointless, never trying to convince her to stop. They simply took turns being there, offering support and making the lair seem a little less cavernously empty.

Three weeks came and went, and Felicity was beginning to wonder exactly how large a deficit of sleep one could realistically survive. Her veins were probably coursing with more coffee than blood at that point, but she couldn't bring herself to stop. Oliver never would have given up on her, no matter how impossible the situation seemed, and Felicity owed him no less.

Sometimes, when the boys were quiet and Felicity had nothing to do but watch her multitude of searches run, she would catch herself thinking about Oliver, of what things would be like if they were granted a miracle and he returned home, safe and sound. She imagined what it would feel like to be held in those strong arms again, how her heart would race and her mind would take off after it. In her mind's eye she could see his warm, loving gaze; the endless depth of his steely blue eyes when he gazed at her with open, honest adoration. She could feel it, the fullness in her chest that bloomed and swelled under his affectionate attention, the little shiver of knowledge that trickled down her spine. 

Over and over, Felicity thought about how she would tell him, _finally_ tell him that she loved him too. 

It was a promise she made to the universe, a vow to her own heart; If Oliver came home, came back to her, she would tell him. She would stop hiding from her feelings, would stop being afraid of how things would play out, and simply let herself _feel_ it. She could picture it perfectly, the breathtaking smile that would curve his lips when she said the words out loud for the very first time. It made her ache all the way down to her soul, made her belly fill with butterflies and their rapidly beating wings.

No more maybes, no more what-ifs. Felicity swore that if Oliver came home they would finally be together. 

Of course, she probably should have known it could never be that simple.

 

*

 

“Earth to Blondie.” Roy called, startling Felicity out of her trance-like daze. 

She blinked at the monitor before her, squinting a bit against the brightness of her screensaver. “Sorry, what?” she asked, slowly turning her chair toward the mats, voice crackling a little with disuse.

“You okay?” Digg asked, brows drawn together in a concerned knot above the bridge of his nose as he angled his body toward her, Roy and their sparring match easily taking a backseat. 

“Fine.” Felicity sighed, rubbing at her eyes with her fingertips beneath her glasses until a kaleidoscope of colors made her dizzy. “Just tired.”

“When is the last time you slept?” Roy frowned, swiping a towel off the table as he came closer, wiping sweat from his face and neck. 

Sighing again, this time in frustrated annoyance, Felicity looked from one man to the other, expression bland. “I'm fine, guys.” she repeated, her tone harder. “I slept.”

“When?” John pressed sternly, arms folded over his chest, eyes dark with worry. “You were here when I left last night, and you were here when I got in today. When did you sleep?”

Felicity groaned, letting her head fall back against the headrest of her chair. “I got a few hours on Oli-” she caught herself, internally wincing. “On the roll-away bed. Seriously, John, I'm okay.”

His narrow-eyed look matched the one Roy shot her way, neither of them missing the way she just kept withdrawing into herself the longer Oliver was gone. They worried about her, about how she was handling his death. She didn't accept it, they both knew, and that was okay for now. Honestly, until they found a body, neither of them could accept his loss either. But, they dealt with it differently. Not better, necessarily, but different. They, at least, had Starling City and its criminal element to focus on. Nothing took the edge off quite like a good fight.

“We worry about you, Felicity.” Roy told her, his gaze soft and sincere. “It's not healthy, spending all your time down here and chugging coffee like it's water.”

Felicity snorted, head lolling sideways to smile tiredly at Roy where he'd perched on the edge of her desk. “I know, but I'm-”

“Fine.” Digg interrupted, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “Yeah, we heard.”

Opening her mouth to snark playfully at him, Felicity froze instinctively at the sound of the mechanical whir echoing from the top of the stairs as the security door released its locks. She frowned at Digg, who was reaching for his Desert Eagle and taking up a defensive stance between Felicity, Roy, and the bottom of the staircase. 

“It's probably just Laurel.” Felicity suggested, though she knew well enough to stay behind Digg. 

The tension in the room shot up, Roy and Digg both going rigid when a set of heavy boots appeared on the top step. They didn't have a clear view of the top landing from their position, but the moment those boots tapered up to reveal a set of long, powerful legs, Felicity's heart lurched into her throat and her stomach swooped toward her feet, the world going a little topsy-turvy around her.

She would recognize that particular gate anywhere.

“Oliver.” she breathed, her lungs too tight. “That's him, Digg. It's him!”

Before anyone else could move so much as an inch, Felicity was flinging herself out of her chair and launching her body across the lair. She didn't hear Roy or Diggle call out to her, couldn't hear anything over the rush of blood in her ears as her heart hammered against her ribs. Colliding with Oliver's chest felt like slamming face-first into a brick wall, but his arms came up automatically to wrap around her back, holding her up before she could crumple to the floor.

“Oliver.” she gasped, voice tear-soaked and shaking as she clung to him, practically hung from his neck like a pendent and chain. “Thank God.”

He felt solid in her embrace, _real_ , all hard lines and sharp planes. It took her a moment to notice, overwhelmed as she was with him simply being there, being _alive_. All at once, though, she realized he was tense beneath her hands, in her arms. His shoulders were tight, his arms stiff where they held her. It reminded her of when they first met, of the very first time she'd been brave enough to pull him into a hug. The way he held himself, all reigned in and stoic, made her heart twist uncomfortably. 

He still hadn't spoken, either, which wouldn't have been all that unusual for the old Oliver, or maybe if he hadn't just _returned from the dead_. 

“Oliver?” Felicity whispered, allowing him to gently push her away from him. She took the opportunity to look up at him, at the face she'd missed so much it physically hurt. “Are you hurt?” she asked, stepping back to look him over, running her hands down his arms, across his chest in search of any injuries. 

“No, I'm fine, Felicity.” he told her, though he wasn't looking at her, not really. He was looking over her head at Digg, something dark and unfamiliar in his expression. 

No one noticed Felicity flinch as though she'd been struck, the weight and cadence of Oliver's tone making her stomach sink, her name sounding empty as it tripped off his tongue.

Roy snorted dryly, drawing Digg and Oliver's attention. “Boy, you two really are made for each other.”

Oliver's confused expression shifted into something knowing, like a lightbulb had gone off in his head. “That's not-” he started, stopped. He looked from Roy to Digg, his eyes flicking down to Felicity's face but skipping away too quickly for her to see anything in them. 

She took another step back before he could continue, giving him the space he so clearly needed. “You should let John look you over, at least, Oliver. You've been gone for weeks, who knows what you've been through.” she urged, tamping down on the frisson of fearful unease tingling through her.

Oliver did meet her eyes then, but she almost wished he hadn't. 

When he looked down at her, Felicity felt the air whoosh right out of her lungs. Her knees wobbled but she fought to stay upright, ignoring the flare of pain behind her heart. 

Those eyes, shuttered and hard, weren't the ones she'd come to know, to love. The eyes looking at her now, the same familiar blue but backed by solid, glinting steel, made her pulse skyrocket. She stumbled back automatically, stunned to see the absolute lack of warmth, of _Oliver_ in those eyes. There was none of his love for her in those eyes; No gentle affection, no glowing warmth, no glimmer of recognition. 

Those eyes were empty, nothing but hollow darkness and indifference.

Felicity could feel her face crumble, tears welling and lips trembling as she tried to suck in a breath. Those eyes, that furrowed brow and slightly turned-down mouth; those didn't belong to Oliver Queen. Not the one Felicity had fallen in love with, anyway. The emptiness in his gaze when he looked at her, the cold distance in his expression and the veritable chasm between them, those belonged to Oliver Queen; Vigilante.

“Felicity?” John questioned softly, his hand coming to rest in the small of her back, anchoring her back into her skin when she felt like she was going to shatter right out of it. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” she croaked hastily, already pulling away, heading back to her computers. “I'm just... I have to shut everything down, stop searching now that we know he's- He's alive.” 

“That can wait, Felicity,” Roy assured, looking between Felicity and Oliver like there was a puzzle there, something he thought he understood but clearly didn't. “Don't you want to-”

“No, I- I'm good.” she shook her head, resolutely refusing to look back at Oliver, willing back the tears burning her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. She stubbornly refused to acknowledge the concern on Roy's face. “You guys go ahead, look him over. I have... Stuff.”

“Stuff.” Roy repeated incredulously, casting a worried look at Diggle. “Felicity-” he stopped, cutting himself off when she turned pleading, glittering eyes up at him. “Okay.” he nodded immediately, lips going tight and thin. 

Awkwardly, Roy and Diggle urged Oliver toward the med-bay, clapping him on the back and mumbling about being glad he was home. They left Felicity alone to wrestle down the storm of emotions raging inside her, allowing her the space to sort through the snarl of confusion churning in her brain. 

She was thrilled, ecstatic even, to have Oliver home. He seemed to be in one piece for the most part, which was all she'd really asked for. But, he was off, _wrong_ somehow. The way he looked at her, even the way he said her name; It was all wrong.

She had gotten used to feeling his love for her with nothing more than a look. Oliver carried his emotions in his eyes, wore his heart right there on his sleeve even though he tried not to. Ever since he had made his vow to Tommy, stopped killing and actually let himself be human again, Oliver was different. Even more so, really, since that night in the mansion, the night Slade took her. He was more open, easier to smile, easier to love. He lost the sharp edges and the stoicism, let his team in.

Now... This Oliver, the Oliver that strolled into the lair like he'd never been gone, never been all but dead, he was all granite and scowling, a hardened, throwback version of the Oliver that lied to her at every turn and killed without blinking. 

Something deep inside Felicity knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, this wasn't the Oliver that had pulled her close and gently kissed her forehead, the man that told her he loved her and meant it. 

Honestly, this Oliver looked at her like he'd never loved her at all.

 

*

 

To say the next few days were tense was like saying the ocean was deep or the Burj Khalifa was tall; woefully and pathetically inadequate.

Against Diggle's advice, Oliver slipped almost directly back into the hood. It was painful to watch, the way he hid beneath his leathers, pulled his hood up and let the shadows cloak his face. Felicity was thrown by the seamless shift from tortured playboy to masked killer, knocked off kilter by the sheer ease with which he donned his old persona. Hard as it was to see, Oliver was one hundred percent vigilante when he rode off into the night on his bike, not even bothering to turn on his comm-link.

When he did linger in the lair, he was quiet.

Felicity remembered when she'd first joined the team, how Oliver kept more to himself than anything, only engaging with her or Digg in casual, friendly conversation when he couldn't find a way around it. Seeing him do that now was like looking back in time, at a man she hadn't ever really known. That Oliver - the brooding, stand-offish militant who mitigated his pain by taking it out on others - had never given her the chance to get close. By the time she'd managed to crack his shell, she'd already gotten to know the softer, more human side of him. 

Knowing Oliver had reverted to his immediately post-island behavior after having fallen for the gentler, sweeter incarnation made Felicity feel like she was suffocating. She didn't know how to act around him, how she was supposed to rebuild their relationship from scratch, starting from a place they'd never actually been. 

She missed _Oliver_ , her Oliver. There were no teasing quips or flirtatious jokes that edged too close to the line he'd drawn, no lingering touches that skipped right over platonic and landed somewhere around _tell me again why we aren't married already_. And, despite her objection to it in the past, she even missed the way he hovered behind her shoulder while she worked, like he had no choice but to be near her even if she was focused on everything but him. 

Felicity missed it all.

It wasn't as though Oliver were being cruel or deliberately mean, of course. Everything was just so agonizingly different from the way they'd grown to interact that Felicity honestly had no idea where to even begin to fix it. Fixing it wasn't her job, she knew, but there seemed to be little else by way of options. With no one talking about it, especially Oliver, Felicity had no idea where to go from there.

His first night back, Oliver didn't even look up when he let himself into the lair. It was just Felicity downstairs, sitting at her computers without really seeing them, the lair's lights turned down. She startled when she heard the door open but didn't turn her chair around to greet him. She recognized the sound of his feet on the steel staircase, a sound she'd begged the universe to let her hear again, but it just made her chest hurt all the more so she stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

Oliver went right for his suit, didn't say a word until he was dressed and grabbing up his bow. “Roy will be here soon,” he announced, not bothering with a hello or any sort of preamble, “send him out to the docks.”

He didn't wait for confirmation and Felicity didn't offer any. 

Roy found her half an hour later, knees curled into her chest and sniffling.

“Give him time.” he'd soothed, stroking a hand over the back of her head. “He's been through a lot, Felicity. He just needs time.”

Felicity nodded into her knees, fighting down a sob when Roy planted a kiss to the top of her head before hurling up the stairs and leaving her alone.

The second and third night weren't much better, save for Felicity making sure she had plenty of research to keep her busy. The city was relatively quiet, still enjoying the effects of the post-mirakuru clean up. Oliver and Roy didn't even really need to be out on patrol, but Felicity figured it could only help Oliver in the long run, guide him back into the swing of things.

Once more huddled up in front of her computers, Felicity busied herself reading through the latest police reports, looking for any cases that might fall into their territory. Other than a few minor drug arrests and one domestic dispute gone wrong, there wasn't much to choose from. When that failed, she did some unnecessary maintenance to her system, cleaned up and rearranged several different areas of the lair that no one ever used but her, and had read almost six chapters of a book she found tucked up on top of a bunch of boxes in the storage closet.

When Oliver and Roy returned just after midnight, Felicity was on her third pot of coffee and felt like she was going to vibrate right out of her chair if not her skin. 

“Go home.” Oliver had ordered, voice brooking no argument. “You're no use to the team if you can't focus.”

Felicity and Roy had both stared at Oliver's back as he strode away, Roy with the shadow of anger cast over his face and Felicity with her bottom lip caught so hard between her teeth she tasted copper.

“Come on, Blondie.” Roy urged softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and helping her up. “I'll take you home.”

John was a welcome presence on the fourth night, staying with her while the other two went out on patrol. He didn't press her for information or push her to share, just sat beside her and helped her sort through criminal records. It was soothing, having John by her side. They talked a little, mostly about Sara and how she was growing so fast it made Digg and Lyla just the littlest bit sad. Felicity found comfort in John's unwavering warmth, found herself pushing their chairs together so she could lean into him while they talked.

Roy returned first, face streaked with blood and dirt. “We're okay.” he assured quickly, palms up and arms open to show no injuries. “Oliver's got a nasty gash in his side-”

Felicity didn't let him finish, just rushed to the med-bay and started pulling out gauze, disinfectant solution, and a suture kit. She had everything laid out by the time Oliver grunted his way down the stairs, gritting his teeth to stop himself from making any more noise.

“Get on the table.” Felicity commanded, not giving him the chance to disagree. 

Oliver arched a brow at her, looking a bit amused by the way she took control, but he complied, shrugging out of his jacket as he went. 

“Shirt.” She tugged at the hem of his undershirt, then stood back to let him strip it over his head. 

Oliver winced when he lifted his arms above his shoulders, the messy wound over his ribs tugging uncomfortably. Felicity reached for him, fingers splaying over his side to steady him as she looked at his injury, but Oliver's hand shot out to grasp her hard by the wrist. She went rigid in his too-tight grip, a soft whimper bubbling in her throat.

Oliver jerked back like he'd been burned, the first flicker of anything besides rage or indifference sparking in his eyes. “Sorry.” he ground out immediately, not looking at Roy or John as they came up behind Felicity and Roy pulled her away.

“What the hell, Oliver?” Diggle demanded, angry and surprise making his tone hard. 

Felicity didn't look back, didn't listen to hear what Oliver had to say in his own defense. She let Roy lead her to the back of the lair, to the freezer where they kept blood and ice packs. 

“Here.” Roy said gently, wrapping an ice pack delicately around her wrist. “You okay?”

Felicity nodded quickly, biting her lips together and fighting the stinging in her eyes. Her feelings were hurt more than anything, but she couldn't open her mouth to say so without risking a hiccuping sob coming out right along with it. Oliver had never hurt her, would never deliberately do so, but the potential had been there for the first time in their history and that shook her. She'd always had his affection for her, even when it was simply platonic, as a buffer between her and the darkest parts of himself. She wasn't entirely convinced she had that anymore, and even just the idea of it made her heart hurt. 

She still didn't believe Oliver would actually hurt her, not physically. No matter what he'd been through, what had changed between them, Oliver wasn't, would never be that kind of man. 

Roy must have seen it written on her face anyway because he cradled her wrist to his chest with one hand, used the other to wrap around the back of her neck and pull her into a hug. “I'm sorry, Felicity.” he murmured, dutifully ignoring the weak sound that escaped her throat. “I know this has to suck for you.”

She nodded into his neck, letting herself sink into the comfort of his arm around her shoulders. 

“Want me to kick his ass for you?”

Felicity giggled through her tears, pulling back to smile a watery smile. “I think we both know how that would end.”

Roy grinned, relieved to see something other than tears and a frown on Felicity's face. He cupped her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “The offer stands.” he promised.

Avoiding Oliver for the rest of the night was easy, if only because he didn't actively try to seek her out. Felicity spent the last couple of hours before sunrise making more progress in the book she'd found, splitting her time between reading and listening to the SCPD scanner for any situations requiring their attention.

Digg called it a night, heading home to Lyla and Sara before either of them could wake. Around four o'clock Roy yawned, jaw cracking with how wide his mouth dropped open. 

“You ready to head home?” he asked, eyes lingering a little over Felicity's wrist, the faint stain of a bruise forming beneath her porcelain skin. “I'll give you a ride.”

“In my car, you mean?” she teased with a smile, rubbing sleepily at her own eyes. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

The two of them were halfway to the stairs when Oliver's voice pierced the tense quiet. “Felicity.”

Surprised, she turned back to him, cautious but curious. Eyebrows lifted in question, she waited.

Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a deep scowl marring his face. “Can I talk to you? Alone.” he added, giving Roy a significant look.

Roy huffed a sarcastic breath, making Felicity smile reassuringly at him when he turned questioning eyes on her. “Are you sure?” he asked, laying a protective hand to the dip of her spine. “I can stay.”

She was already shaking her head. “Go ahead, wait upstairs. I'll be right behind you.”

He hesitated, sending a narrow-eyed glare Oliver's way before nodding and slowly making his way out of the lair. Felicity watched him go, only turning back to Oliver when the door locked behind Roy.

“So?” she asked, brows up expectantly. “If this is about earlier-”

“It is.” Oliver sighed, eyes intense but seemingly a little lost. His face was drawn and tired, the lines of his mouth carved deep with exhaustion. “I owe you an apology for that. I was out of line.”

“Yes, you really were.” Felicity agreed, her tone soft but chiding. “I was only trying to help, Oliver.”

“I know.” he nodded, more to himself than anything. “I know that, but you... You surprised me.”

Felicity's brows pulled together in confusion. “I've patched you up a million times. Why-”

“That was before.” Oliver interrupted, meeting her questioning gaze directly. “Things are different now, Felicity. _I'm_ different.”

“Oh, I am well aware of that.” she snorted derisively. 

Oliver growled under his breath, a sound that Felicity recognized but had never been on the receiving end of. “Look, I know that you and I were something, before.” he started haltingly, and Felicity felt the ground tilt out from under her feet, her stomach rolling with nausea. “I remember feeling things for you, things that were terrifying and larger than life. I remember it, but I don't...”

Swallowing thickly, fighting the lump forming in the middle of her chest, rising up into her throat, Felicity blinked hard against tears. “You don't what, Oliver?” she asked, embarrassed to hear the quake in her own voice.

His eyes went hard again, shuttered as she watched. “I died on that mountain, Felicity.” he ground out between clenched teeth. Felicity's stomach roiled, bile burning the back of her tongue. “Ra's shoved a sword through my chest and kicked me off the side of a cliff, okay? I was dead, and death... It changes you.”

Felicity had a hand covering her mouth, clamped down tight to stop herself from making a sound. She could feel the sob lodged somewhere behind her sternum but she refused to let it out. A million questions flooded her mind, made her head spin with the influx, but she tamped down on the urge to ask them.

“Malcolm Merlyn found me on a mountain ledge.” Felicity did make a sound then, a gasp that she just couldn't hold back. Oliver shook his head, a humorless smile curling his lips before he continued. “He's the one who brought me back. The League has a way, a place that can revive the dead, and Merlyn... It doesn't matter. The point is, I'm not the same person I was when I left.”

Felicity took a step forward, her body moving of its own accord. She froze when Oliver stepped back, his shoulders tightening. “I don't understand.” she admitted, her voice sounding hollow and distraught even to her own ears. “What does any of this have to do with me, with before?”

Oliver glared angrily at his hands, like they'd betrayed him and he couldn't figure out why. When he lifted his eyes back to Felicity, they were dark and clouded. “I said that I remember us, remember being in love with you.”

Felicity nodded, trying to smile through the tears. Hearing Oliver say the words, despite whatever else was going on, made a tiny flicker of hope spark in her chest.

That hope was doused in ice water when Oliver added, “I remember it, but I don't feel it anymore.”

“You-” Felicity choked on the knot in her throat, eyes burning with tears that trickled down her cheeks in scorching trails. “I don't- So you, what? You just don't love me anymore?”

Oliver shook his head tightly, jaw clenched. “I don't even remember what it felt like, honestly. I can't feel much of anything anymore.” he explained, clinical and detached. “I know that I did love you, that it was there, but I can't remember how it actually felt. The place where it used to be, where we used to be, it's just empty now.”

“Feelings like that don't just disappear, Oliver.” Felicity snapped, angry and confused, her world feeling as though it were shaking apart around her. “You don't-”

“I'm just trying to be honest with you.” Oliver told her coldly, expression unmoved and blank. “I'm not in love with you, Felicity. If that's going to be a problem for you, I need to know now. My team can't afford-”

“Your team?” Felicity laughed, a bit hysterical and more than a little shakily. “Who do you think held _your_ team together while you were gone, Oliver? This team is as much mine as it is yours.”

Oliver's scowl deepened and he looked for a moment like he was going to argue, but the door opened at the top of the steps and Roy's voice echoed down.

“Hey Blondie, you comin' or what?”

“Coming!” she called back, eyes never leaving Oliver's face. Before she turned to leave, she looked Oliver square in the eye, drawing all her strength up into her voice. “You may not remember what it felt like to love me, Oliver, but this team... We are more than just a team, we're family. However you feel or don't feel about me now, that doesn't change.”

She could feel Oliver's gaze on her back as she climbed the stairs, felt it burning into her skin with every step. She held her shoulders up and back, her head high even though tears were coursing down her cheeks. Roy's smile slipped when he saw her, his eyes going soft and sad.

“What happened?”

“Take me home?” she asked, all too aware of the broken, splintered sound of her own voice. “I just want to go home.”

Roy didn't hesitate to pull her into another hug, arms around her shivering frame as she sobbed against his throat. “Okay, okay.” he murmured between gentle shushes, “Everything is gonna be okay.”


	2. Frigid Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some more emotions, lovelies!

Felicity let herself into her apartment on autopilot, feet shuffling and eyes unseeing. She felt like a zombie as she let Roy guide her inside her own space, her eyes feeling puffy and tender with each blink.

“You don't have to stay.” she managed to whisper, throat dry and aching as she absently shrugged out of her coat. 

Roy chuffed a laugh, lacking any hint of humor. “Shut up, Felicity. Come on, sit down and relax for a minute.”

Doing as she was told, Felicity dragged herself over to the couch and collapsed heavily down into its cushions. She stared blankly at the ceiling, squinting against the light when Roy flicked on the lamp beside her. There wasn't a lot of daylight coming in through the large picture window across from her, not when the sun had barely begun to slip over the horizon. The lamp's soft light chased away the edges of darkness, pushed it back and flooded it with light.

“You want something to drink? No way are you drinking any more coffee, but water or juice or something?” Roy asked gently, careful not to startle her as he leaned into her line of sight. “Or maybe, do you still have those Sleepy Time tea bags? Hang on.”

Felicity felt the corner of her lips twitch when Roy disappeared, the sound of him banging around in her kitchen filling the silence, settling into the hollow space where her heart was supposed to be. She listened to him set water to boil on the stove before he stepped back into the living room a second later, sitting on the cushion beside her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he tried, expression open and patient when she rolled her head toward him. 

Felicity tried to offer him a thankful smile, though she couldn't quite manage it with tears welling again. “Not really.” she shook her head, those two words feeling like knives in her throat. 

“Okay.” Roy said decisively, reaching out to squeeze her thigh. “But, whenever you are ready to talk, I'll be here to listen.”

“I know.” She wrapped her fingers around his hand, squeezing back. 

They sat side by side on her sofa to drink their tea, the television switched on to the morning news. Roy watched it a little, between sips of tea and casting worried glances at Felicity out of the corner of his eye. She was pressed in along his side, her head resting on his shoulder and hands wrapped firmly around her mug. She didn't hear a word the news anchor said, too busy staring into nothing, barely registering the way the window across from her slowly began to fill with early morning light.

Her body hurt in a soul-deep kind of way, her bones feeling brittle and her chest throbbing in time with the sluggish, painful thump of her heart. The look in Oliver's eyes haunted her, made her shudder with chills her tea couldn't chase away. He'd been so unfeeling when he told her he didn't love her anymore, like he was reading from the Yellow pages. There was no inflection, no emotion in his voice, in his eyes, and Felicity hated every second of it.

She wasn't angry with him, not when it wasn't his fault. He had no control over the fallout of dying and coming back to life, hadn't asked to lose his love for her. It was impossible to be pissed at him for something he so clearly hadn't wanted in the first place. 

Oliver, her Oliver, never would have traded his love for her for his own life, that much she was sure of. Her Oliver may have struggled with his feelings but he never once expressed a desire to be rid of them. If anything, he seemed to want to explore them, the only thing stopping him his worry for her safety. 

Still, knowing that it wasn't his fault, that it was just one of those cruel twists the universe liked to hand out every now and then, didn't make it any easier to deal with. She had Oliver back, just like she'd asked, but he didn't remember what it felt like to love her. She felt guilty being upset that his love for her was missing when he no longer was. It was selfish, being angry at the universe for taking something from her when it had seen fit to return Oliver, alive and seemingly healthy.

“Felicity.” 

Roy's voice made her jump, cutting through the sleep-like haze she'd slipped into. She turned wide eyes on him, blinking to clear her vision. “Hmm?” 

His brows were drawn in concern but he patiently repeated, “I asked if you were ready to turn in. You're dozing off sitting up.”

Felicity looked down at her hands, noticed for the first time that her mug was sitting on the floor by her feet instead of in her lap. “Yeah.” she nodded slowly, frowning at her hands. There was heat in her eyes again, the lingering remnants of tears yet to be shed. “Yeah, sleep sounds good.”

Roy stood, offering her a hand up. “I'll tuck you in.” he grinned, making her exhale a rattling laugh. 

“I know where my bed is, Roy.” She wasn't really arguing, not when his hand was warm and reassuring in hers as he tugged her down the hall to her bedroom.

“I know.” he shrugged. “I'm just not confident in your ability to make it there without falling over.”

In her room, Felicity eyed her bed speculatively, wondering if she might have been better off staying on the couch.

“Would-” she cut herself off, shaking her head to clear the mess of thoughts she couldn't seem to make sense of.

“What?” Roy pressed, watching her toe at the floor. 

She looked from the emptiness of her bed to meet Roy's eye. “Would you stay with me?” she asked, her voice small and painfully insecure. “I just... I don't really want to be alone.”

Roy's eyes melted, two pools of gentle gray looking back at her. “Yeah, Blondie,” he smiled, “I can stay.”

Felicity gave Roy a pair of old sweats to sleep in, slipping into the bathroom to change into her own sleep shorts and a baggy t-shirt. When she came out, Roy was already under the covers, one side turned down in wait.

With a grateful quirk of her lips, Felicity climbed into the bed. She didn't hesitate to tuck herself into his side, leaching his warmth and comfort as she snuggled in against him. 

“Thank you.” she mumbled groggily, already halfway to sleep with his arm around her. She could feel his chest rise and fall with a sigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into her spine, and it lulled her into a sleepy fog almost immediately. 

“You don't have to thank me.” Roy whispered back, not sure if she was even awake to hear him respond. “This is what friends are for. Now get some sleep, Felicity.”

 

*

 

Standing outside her apartment was probably a terrible idea. Oliver knew he should be literally anywhere else in the city, anywhere that wasn't creeping outside the window of the woman whose heart he'd just destroyed – Even without his feelings for her, he knew better – but, something made him drop by on his way back to his and Thea's loft. Something tugged deep inside, made him pull his bike onto her street, park it at the corner and walk the rest of the way to her place.

He stood staring at her front door for a while, the itch between his shoulder blades growing more and more uncomfortable the longer he lingered. His mind kept conjuring images of Felicity, face pale and lips trembling, tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared at him in bafflement. It was unpleasant, seeing someone he knew feel that kind of pain. Worse, he knew he was the cause of it, but couldn't figure out a way around it. Felicity deserved the truth, deserved to know that he was broken on a fundamental level. 

Waking up in twelve feet of unnaturally glowing water hadn't been nearly as confusing as the adjustments that came afterward. At first he hadn't even noticed a difference. He'd felt strong and healthy, and that was a major improvement over being dead, so Oliver hadn't really thought to question it. 

The confusion came later, flipping through the small stack of photos Merlyn had given him.

“Your team, a few others.” Malcolm had explained, something expectant and deceptive slithering behind his eyes. “I thought you might need a visual to jump start your memories.”

Oliver sifted through the pictures, feeling an odd sense of detachment from the faces looking back at him. He recognized each of them, had the memories that belonged to all of them, but there was something missing. 

He smiled a bit looking at the snapshot of Digg and Lyla, baby Sara held between them. Roy's photo evoked a paternal pang somewhere in his chest, Thea's picture making that pang spark to life and burn bright, not stopping until it was a full fledged inferno. The photos of his mother, Tommy, and Sara all brought back memories of mourning, bone-deep grief that felt like it belonged to another lifetime, another person. Laurel's picture brought up a multitude of different feelings, the most recent of which felt like frustrated affection with just a hint of exasperation. 

The last photo in the stack had been Felicity's. 

At first, Oliver hadn't felt much of anything beyond the initial recognition and cold spark of something he didn't understand somewhere behind his heart. He knew the pouty curve of those lips, the sparkling blue of those eyes. He remembered knowing her, sharing space and responsibility with the beautiful woman smiling up at him. He remembered spending time with her, taking her out to dinner and carrying her battered body home in his arms. He recalled shooting the Count to save Felicity, along with the multitude of other times he'd come to her rescue. 

Crystal clear were the memories of soft, intimate looks shared between them, one tense and emotional moment of lips meeting in a hospital hallway. He remembered loving her, wanting a future and a life with her. 

He remembered all of it, every single memory she'd ever been a part of, but he couldn't _feel_ it. Staring down at the photograph with a heavy dose of consternation, Oliver was frustrated by the hollow feeling in his chest. It felt like something massive and important was missing from him, something deeply ingrained that was suddenly and completely gone.

Oliver flicked through the photos again, trying to figure out what felt so off about his existence. He made two full cycles through the stack before it struck him. Everything he felt while looking at these people, everything he thought was there, was just a shadow. He didn't actually feel any of it, it was just a ghost of memories, an imprint left by the things he used to feel. The only one he felt anything current and unshakable for was Thea, and that was an entirely different kind of love than the kind one felt for someone who wasn't their sister. 

Oh, he cared about the rest of them, felt the flicker and waver of protective, caring feelings for them. They stirred the bare bones of emotions he knew he had felt for them in the past, dusted up whatever lingering scraps were left behind, but he found it easy to ignore them, to brush them off completely and disengage.

He knew he should feel more bereft without the full spectrum of his emotions, that it should bother him more, but before he could even process that he felt more like the Oliver that was picked up on Lian Yu than the Oliver that spent the last three years in Starling City, Malcolm was looking at him like he was a gift from the Gods and telling him it was time to go home. 

Now, Oliver was lingering outside Felicity's apartment and questioning why he felt drawn there. He didn't love her, couldn't even remember what it felt like to love someone the way he thought he probably used to love her, but some part of him needed to check that she was okay. She'd been strong and determined when she left the lair, chin jutting up defiantly, but Oliver could read the pain in every taunt line of her body.

He hadn't meant to hurt her, felt the first stirrings of something that might have been guilt when he grabbed her by the wrist and left the marks of his fingers in her flesh. He felt worse still having to be the one to drain the light out of her eyes by telling her he didn't love her anymore. It was only fair, he thought, to tell her he wasn't the man he used to be, wasn't the man she loved. 

Without the delusion that they would ever be anything close to what they used to be, ever be more than that, Felicity could move on with her life and let go of the fractured, defective husk of what was left of him.

What he couldn't figure out was why anger flooded his system when he finally convinced himself to just look in on her quick, just to make sure she was alright, only to find her curled up in bed, fast asleep with Roy beside her. 

It wasn't a practical response and he knew it, wanting to drag Roy out of Felicity's bed and punch the smirk off his face, but that's where Oliver was at. He didn't understand the possessive heat coursing through his bloodstream, the ember of what he thought might have once been jealousy that flickered to life in the aching cavern beneath his ribcage. 

Why should he care who Felicity slept with? Other than the fact that just a few hours before she'd looked devastated by Oliver's lack of feelings for her, made him feel something that wasn't anger or rage or bloodthirst. She didn't owe him anything, not when he all but told her to forget about them or any chance at a future they might have had.

And yet, the place beneath Oliver's sternum that felt like someone had scooped out his emotions with the searing edges of a molten hot shovel throbbed at the sight of Felicity tucked under Roy's arm. It made his blood run hot, made irritated confusion bubble in his gut and push up under his skin.

Shaking his head and growling low in annoyance, Oliver shoved his hands in his pockets and pulled himself away from Felicity's bedroom window. He grumbled under his breath all the way back to his bike, berating himself for letting himself think he cared, _could_ care about Felicity or her feelings.

He slammed his helmet on, kicked his bike to life and roared off down the street, the phantom of Felicity's shimmering eyes, her face crumbling like Oliver had reached into her chest and ripped her heart out with his bare hands, and the memory of how his heart used to beat for her and her alone haunting him all the way back to the loft.

 

*

 

Needing a couple of mental health days, Felicity decided to take a few nights off from actively being at the Foundry, operating her computers remotely so she didn't have to see Oliver right away. Roy stayed with her, only leaving to run patrols and train with Oliver, and to grab clothes from his place before going back to her apartment before sunrise.

The first morning after Felicity's absence, Roy came back exhausted. He barely managed to let himself through the front door and drop his duffelbag beside the entryway table before flopping bonelessly down on the couch beside Felicity. She wrinkled her nose looking at him, smelling the heavy scent of sweat and antiseptic clinging to his skin.

“Do I want to know?” she asked, nudging him with her knee as she set her tablet on the end table. 

Roy grunted, turning his head with a wince so he could talk to her without his words being muffled by the couch. “Oliver kicked my ass in training.”

“You're okay, right?” she questioned immediately, pushing herself up to hover over him. “He didn't hurt you too badly, did he?”

Roy huffed. “Split my knuckles with a staff, but I'm fine. He's just being more of an asshole than usual.”

Felicity bit her lip, knowing that their confrontation probably had something to do with Oliver's behavior. She'd told Roy about it when they woke up together the afternoon following the incident, talking to the ceiling so she didn't have to see the sympathetic anger on his face. Roy had been indignant on her behalf, but she assured him she just wanted to forget it ever happened.

“You hungry?” she tried, attempting to distract Roy from his soreness. “I made brisket last night, and there's plenty of leftovers.”

Roy cracked open one eye to peek at her hopefully. “Really?”

“Really.” she grinned, swatting him playfully on the ass as she climbed off of him to head into the kitchen. “Sandwich?” she called back, laughing to herself when Roy just grunted.

Felicity was already in bed when Roy dragged himself out of the shower and under the covers, curling in behind her and pulling her into his chest. She was asleep before he even started snoring.

The next morning was worse. Roy limped into the bedroom, grimacing when Felicity looked up from the laptop sitting open in her lap. 

“Oh my God, Roy, your face!” she exclaimed, scrambling out of bed to cup her hands to either side of his face, her thumb brushing gently at the purpling bruise around his right eye. 

“I'm fine.” he assured, wincing as her finger dragged over the scrape on his cheek. “We had a thing with some guys in the park. Not a big deal.”

“Where were Digg and Oliver? Or Laurel?” she demanded, pushing him down on the edge of the bed before ducking into the bathroom in search of her first-aid kit. 

“Laurel had a meeting and couldn't patrol tonight. Oliver was there, but he... I don't know, he was busy or something, I guess.” Roy shrugged it off, shaking his head when Felicity reappeared, kit in her hands. “Digg already cleaned it up, Felicity, I'm fine.”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Felicity set the kit down on the nightstand and stepped in-between Roy's parted legs, prodding gently at the bruise. “Nothing's broken?”

“No, it's just a bruise.” he promised, using a hand at her hip to gently push her back so he could stand. “Let me shower quick, and we can watch Game of Thrones, okay? I wanna see Dany fuck everybody's shit up.”

The third morning Roy returned to her apartment with more injuries than he left with was the moment Felicity decided enough was enough. These idiots obviously weren't capable of doing anything without hurting themselves if she wasn't around to supervise, so the hiding from her problems tactic was officially scrapped. 

Roy was already at the Foundry by the time Felicity got off work, so she drove straight there from her office. She was halfway down the stairs into the lair when the sound of skin slapping the mats with enough force to shake the whole building down around them reached her ears.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” she yelled, skidding to a stop at the edge of the mats. 

Roy was sprawled out on his back, chest heaving and shining with sweat, an angry red welt raised horizontally across his pecs. Oliver had the good graces to at least look like he'd been caught out, but not contrite enough to think he really thought he'd done anything wrong.

“We're sparring, Felicity.” Oliver told her casually, one brow raised in challenge. “You've seen us do this a thousand times.”

“Not like this!” she snapped, kicking off her heels to hurry across the mat in bare feet, dropping to her knees beside Roy. “Are you trying to crack his sternum?!” 

“I'm- okay.” Roy wheezed, eyes glassy with pain. “Just- give me- a second.”

“No!” Felicity glared at the pair of them, her eyes eventually fixing hard on Oliver. “What is wrong with you? You know he's still learning! You could have seriously hurt him.”

“He's a big boy.” Oliver shrugged as though he couldn't care less, but Felicity knew him too well. 

She knew his tells, knew how he tried to brush things off as inconsequential when they weren't. The tight set of his shoulders and the clench of his jaw told her there was way more at play there.

“Bull!” she bit out, putting an arm around Roy's ribs to help steady him when he swayed into an upright position. “You're pissed off about something and you're taking it out on Roy. That stops right now, Oliver.”

“What's going on?” Digg asked cautiously, appearing at the bottom of the staircase, eyes wary as he took in the scene. 

Felicity hefted a brow at Oliver, daring him to push her. Oliver looked for a moment like he would, like he wanted to spit out whatever bitter, angry sentence burned his tongue, but he didn't. Instead, he blew out a deep breath and held a hand down to Roy, an offering of peace.

“Are you done holing up in your apartment?” he asked Felicity, his eyes burning into hers as he pulled Roy to his feet. “I was beginning to think I needed to find a new techie.”

“Oliver.” John warned, his tone reprimanding. 

“No, it's fine, John.” Felicity laughed humorlessly, stepping right into Oliver's space, dropping her voice low. He quirked an amused brow down at her, but she saw right through him. He might as well have been made of glass. “Look, I don't know what's got you all,” she waggled her fingers at his chest, then up to his face, her own expression pinched in angry mocking, “but you need to get it together. You're pissed? Be pissed! But don't take it out on Roy, or the rest of this team.”

“Are you done?” Oliver gritted through his teeth.

Felicity could see his control slipping.

“No, actually,” she pushed, face flushed with temper, skin practically glowing with it, “I'm not. You and I were friends before anything else, Oliver. You may not remember that, or care, but I do. So, as your friend, I am going to tell you this once, and once only – I don't care if your emotions are broken, okay? You will show me the respect I deserve, or you will lose me in every way you still have me. Understood?”

Oliver's jaw went so tight Felicity was sure she heard bone grinding. His eyes flashed, his own temper flaring bright behind them. She expected him to raise his voice, or maybe lower it in that menacing, somewhat threatening way he tried on her that time she locked him in the lair. 

What she wasn't expecting was for him to nod tightly and growl, “Understood.” before stalking away, slamming his staff down on the nearest table and pulling his leather out of its case.

Felicity blinked at the empty space where he had been, heart beating a little faster than normal and limbs shaking with the adrenaline flooding her brain. By the time she shook herself out of it and turned her attention back to Roy, Oliver was already gone.

 

*

 

If he hadn't known it before, Oliver knew it now. There was something wrong inside him. Not just broken or fractured or off, but straight up _wrong_. 

He felt it every time Felicity looked at him, even with sparks of pure, protective rage burning in her eyes. Her gaze made something shift inside him, so deep he wasn't sure it was an entirely physical sensation. 

There was something so bright, so untarnished and pure about Felicity; sometimes it made Oliver feel like he was looking into the sun. Even her memories shined brighter than the rest, almost neon in their intensity. It gave him a headache; looking at her, knowing that at one point he had loved her with everything he had and only feeling cold echoes in the space that love once occupied. 

Watching Felicity with Roy frustrated and annoyed Oliver on a level he didn't understand. It gave him the urge to fight, to rend and destroy in a vengeful fit of impossible, senseless jealousy. The feeling only intensified when Felicity put herself between them, hovering protectively over Roy while Oliver could do nothing but seethe with rage he had no right to.

The more he wracked his brain in an effort to ignite something he didn't remember how to feel, the more Oliver wished he had a target, someone he could chase down and put a the fear of God into just to take the edge off.

Darting through traffic on his bike, Felicity's ire still wrapped around him so tightly he could practically feel it digging into his skin and memories trying their damnedest to swallow him whole, Oliver was caught off guard when his phone rang. He pressed his hand to his chest, depressing the button in his jacket that allowed him to answer his phone. 

“What.”

He shouldn't have been surprised to hear Merlyn's voice on the other end. 

“Oliver,” he greeted smoothly. “I have a job for you.”

Oliver's hands clenched around the grips of his bike, muscles going tight. “Thea?”

“Is perfectly safe.” Merlyn assured, tone placating. “But that threat we discussed is becoming more imminent with each passing day. Of course, you want to protect your sister, don't you?”

“She wouldn't be in danger if it weren't for you!” Oliver snarled, weaving between two semi-trucks. 

“You owe me your life, Oliver.” Merlyn reminded him frigidly. “You'd do well to recall what's at stake here, lest I be forced to remind you. Perhaps with a graphic demonstration of precisely what I am capable of.”

Oliver grit his teeth, pulling his bike into a deserted alleyway between two tenement buildings. Letting the bike idle, he forced himself to respond to Malcolm's threat.

“One act of prolicide wasn't enough for you, Merlyn?” Oliver spat. 

Memories assaulted him; holding Tommy while the life drained out of him, paper-thin remnants of the grief he'd felt over losing his best friend, the vow he'd made to Tommy's memory, to his best friend's ghost. 

The vow he'd only broken once since.

“While Thea's death would be unfortunate,” Malcolm replied, his tone velvet dripping with venom, “you and I both know that I will do whatever it takes to ensure my survival.”

“Where?” Oliver growled, deep and threatening despite knowing Merlyn didn't fear anyone in the world other than Ra's al Ghul himself.

“I'll send you the address. Oh, and Oliver,” Malcolm added, all smarmy charm; confident in the power he had over Oliver, “It's only a matter of time before the League finds out you're not as dead as they thought you to be. Ra's is going to take your breathing as a grave and personal insult, and he is going to attempt to rectify the situation. 

You need to prepare yourself, Oliver, and decide whether or not you wish to involve your team. Should you decide that they would be of assistance in preparation of your battle with Ra's, just remember that our arrangement – including any missions for which I might require your talents –”

“Are to remain undisclosed,” Oliver parroted the phrase he'd heard over and over since they'd set foot back in Starling City, “I'm aware.”


	3. Divided Paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you still reading: I am the worst, and I'm sorry.
> 
> I know that this chapter has taken so long to get out and I apologize for that. Life has kind of gotten the better of me as of late. This story (along with a few others that remain unfinished) will be completed, I swear. I just ask that you continue to be patient with updates.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!

“Anything?”

Roy turned around slowly, already shaking his head in the negative. “Radio silence.”

Felicity sighed dejectedly, already having known what answer she'd receive. “Did you-” 

“He left the Glades about an hour ago, heading north.” Diggle pointed to the flashing blip on Felicity's monitor. “Stopped briefly at 112th and Lexington, then took off again.”

At least Oliver hadn't thought to deactivate his trackers. It gave the team some small sense of comfort knowing that they could find him if it came down to it. Felicity was willing to give Oliver his space, let him work through whatever was going on inside him, but she wasn't about to wash her hands of him completely. He may be acting like a complete ass at the moment, but she knew it wasn't entirely his fault, and that if his emotions weren't on – hopefully – temporary hiatus he wouldn't be behaving the way he had since his return.

Felicity sat heavily in one of the chairs beside John, leaning forward to press her forehead against her knees. “I wish I knew what to do.” she admitted quietly, eyes screwed tight in frustration. “He's in so much pain and I don't think he even realizes it. I don't know how to help him.”

Digg reached out, laid a hand between Felicity's shoulders and rubbed in small, soothing circles. He knew what happened between them the night Oliver had bruised Felicity's wrist, had gotten the story the very next day. There weren't any secrets on their team, not anymore. Too many times secrets had almost been their undoing, had almost ended all of their lives, and that wasn't a mistake any of them were willing to make again.

“Unfortunately, there isn't much you can do, Felicity.” Digg told her softly, a sympathetic smile curving his lips when Felicity turned her head to meet his gaze without lifting her head from her lap. “He went through something that none of us can even begin to understand. A trauma like that... All any of us can do is be here. Oliver has to work through this on his own, and hopefully he'll come out the other side.”

“Oh, he'll come out the other side, alright.” Felicity muttered. “I just don't know if he'll come out whole.”

Giving her shoulder one last supportive squeeze, John flicked his eyes over to the screen depicting Oliver's location. “Well, looks like he's headed back.” he announced, quirking one brow at the image, Oliver's tracker moving at a good clip back toward the Glades.

Felicity sat up, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to steel herself to Oliver's arrival. “Remember when I actually looked forward to him coming down those stairs?”

Roy chuckled dryly, swiveling a little in his chair. “At least he isn't training you.” he told her, rubbing his knuckles in the center of his chest. “I've taken more of a beating in the last week than I have the entire time I've been alive.” 

Felicity frowned, the corners of her mouth pulling down deeply. “Yeah, I don't know what that's abou-”

The program Felicity used to monitor the SCPD radio channel blared to life, Quentin's voice crackling with static as he barked out orders. Felicity listened, eyes growing wider when she realized exactly where Captain Lance was sending his officers.

“Did he just...” Felicity questioned, frown shifting into perplexed surprise. She couldn't possibly have heard that right.

Roy was already nodding, though, turning to stare at the map of Oliver's movements. “112th and Lexington.” he confirmed, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the operator dispatching an ambulance to the scene. 

Felicity was already tapping away at her keyboard, digging up what she could on the name Lance had given. 

“Charles LaCroix.” she read off, eyes scanning his file quickly. “Mid-level supplier to Starling City's drug scene, specializes in the rare and expensive. Looks like he was recently acquitted on trafficking and manslaughter charges stemming from an overdose incident last summer.”

“Acquitted?” John asked, leaning in to read over her shoulder.

“Lack of evidence, according to court transcripts.” Felicity muttered, chewing her bottom lip. “There were rumors that the presiding judge was bought off, but no one could prove it.”

“Starling's drug trade is a massive industry.” Roy snorted. “Of course his judge was bought off.”

“Who was LaCroix's victim?” Diggle questioned.

Felicity flicked between pages in LaCroix's file, finding the answer Digg wanted. “Oh God.” she gasped, stomach turning. “Reigna Powell, a sixteen year old student at St. Matthews.”

Swinging around again, Roy hiked a brow in question. “So what, Oliver went rogue on this one?” he asked. “Of all the dirtbags in Starling, why LaCroix? What even put him on Oliver's radar?”

“I don't know.” Felicity murmured, reading the file more carefully. “I can't see anything here that would have caught Oliver's attention. Not recently, anyway. It was in the news a few weeks ago, but Oliver wasn't even in Starling City then.”

Digg frowned. “So, someone turned him onto LaCroix. Who?”

“And why wouldn't he tell any of us?” Roy added.

“Because it's none of your concern.”

Felicity, Roy, and Diggle all whipped around, startled by Oliver's sudden appearance. He hadn't made a sound when he came in, not even the creak of his leathers. Felicity looked him over, not missing the splotch of blood staining the glove on his right hand. 

“Oliver.” she breathed, pushing up out of her chair to cross the lair. She stopped a foot away, too wary of him to close the distance like she might have once. “What's going on? If LaCroix is someone we need to deal with-”

“He's not. I already dealt with it.” Oliver said, jaw hard and tight as he stepped around her, moving to set his bow in its case.

Felicity sent a pleading look toward John, who set his shoulders and said, “Oliver, man, you gotta tell us what's up. Going off on your own, not letting us have your back; it's dangerous.”

“Our lives are dangerous, Diggle.” Oliver said, peeling himself out his hooded jacket. “Besides, you seem to forget that I fought this war alone once, before any of you even knew there was a war to be fought.”

“But-”

“I'm not alone now.” Oliver smirked, the icy, mocking edge of it making Felicity's heart skitter and plummet toward her feet. “Yeah, I've heard.” He shook his head, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. “Look, LaCroix was someone I needed to deal with, so I dealt with him. That's really all there is to it.”

“Was?” Roy asked, Felicity echoing his concern, “Please tell me you didn't-”

Oliver cut her off with a roll of his eyes and an annoyed huff. “He's not dead. I haven't forgotten my promise to Tommy, alright?”

That gave Felicity chills, hearing Oliver reduce his vow to nothing more than a promise he needed to keep. Sure, it may have started out that way, with Oliver simply wanting to honor Tommy's memory by not being a killer, but it had evolved into so much more than that over time. It had grown, taken on a life of it's own; become the thing that drove Oliver, coming from inside himself rather than out of duty to his friend's memory. Oliver had genuinely wanted to stop being a killer, had wanted to preserve what he thought to be the last remaining dregs of his humanity and find another way. 

Not being a killer was a choice Oliver made for Tommy, but it had become the truth of Oliver himself. To hear that reduced back to nothing more than a vow made in a moment of grief felt nearly blasphemous. 

“Oliver-”

“Go home.” Oliver told Felicity, gaze sweeping around to include Roy and Diggle as well. “There's nothing else to do tonight, get out of here.”

“What am I supposed to tell Captain Lance?” Felicity asked, her confused emotions a snarled knot in her chest. “He's going to call and he's going to want to know why the hell the Arrow is suddenly up to his old tricks.”

“I'll deal with Lance.” Oliver waved her off, lowering the zip on his pants like he hadn't a care in the world if she was watching. 

“The same way you dealt with LaCroix?” Felicity snapped, anger surging up to dwarf the pain and confusion in her eyes, masking it with glinting steel.

Oliver's gaze darkened, his eyes going hard around the corners. “Go. Home.” he growled. “I don't want to see you again until tomorrow night, Felicity. I mean it.”

Felicity saw the momentary flash of _more_ in Oliver's eyes, a brief flicker of something other than the blank canvas he'd been projecting since he got back. Just as quickly as she'd seen it, it was gone, and Oliver was fixing his expression into a disinterested mask.

“Come on, Felicity.” John set a hand low on her back. “We're not going to solve anything tonight. You need a ride?”

“I got it.” Roy interjected, handing Felicity her purse but palming her car keys. “Let's get outta here, Blondie.”

Felicity nodded jerkily, biting her lips together to stop the argument building on the back of her tongue. Digg was right, after all; fighting with Oliver over LaCroix wasn't going to solve anything. It would probably only serve to make things worse, if she were being honest.

As Roy led her toward the stairs, Felicity could feel Oliver's angry glare on her back. It made her neck prickle, goosebumps rising beneath her collar with every step. She wanted to turn around, to see if maybe she could find that spark of her Oliver in his gaze, the one that flickered in his eyes every now and then before blinking out. Instead, she let Roy and Diggle flank her to her car and tried not to worry about Oliver all the way home.

She mostly failed. 

 

*

 

The next afternoon, Felicity met Roy at Big Belly on her lunch break. 

Roy's friendship had been one of the only things keeping her sane over the last few months, and she found solace in his presence. It was easy with him in a way it never really was with Oliver. 

Her relationship with Oliver was always fraught with this undercurrent of tension they couldn't seem to shake. He made her nervous in the beginning, and then the more attracted to Oliver she felt, the more Felicity found herself tensing up in his presence. 

By the time he'd lost QC, his mother, and nearly everything else, they were in a place where their relationship was easier but their lives that much harder. There never seemed to be an easy moment between them, never a time that there wasn't more lingering beneath the words they didn't say, the looks they tried not to allow themselves.

Felicity's relationship with Roy couldn't have been more different. They'd started out as strangers but had managed to build themselves a solid friendship out of the rubble following Slade's assault on the city. The more time they spent together, the more comfortable they got with one another, the easier it was to lean on each other when the shit really started hitting the fan.

Sara's death, discovering Thea had killed her, Oliver's duel with Ra's; all of those events brought Roy and Felicity that much closer together. Their friendship had blossomed into a solid, unshakable bond that they had both grown to count on. If not for Roy, Felicity didn't know where she would have ended up after her confrontations with Oliver over the past two weeks. Having Roy's presence in her life, beside her while she slept, made it just that little bit easier to keep her head up and keep moving forward.

Sitting across from Roy in their booth, two burgers between them, Felicity felt a sense of relief. She could relax with him, let herself breathe without worrying she was stepping over some arbitrary line she didn't know existed, or that she was going to say something that would set Oliver off on his brooding. 

“Stop it.”

Felicity glanced up from where she'd been swirling her french fry through a glob of ketchup. “Stop what?” she asked, brows drawn together in question. 

Roy grinned and stole a fry from her tray, popping it into his mouth. “You've got that frowny line thing between your eyebrows, like you're trying to figure out the mechanics of time travel in your head. Stop it.”

Felicity huffed a laugh, leaning back heavily against the booth seat. “I wish it were that easy.”

“It is that easy.” Roy argued lazily. “Just stop doing it. Worrying about him won't accomplish anything other than giving you a headache and premature wrinkles.” 

Felicity flung a fry at him, laughing lightly despite herself.

Roy's grin only widened. “See?” He kinked one brow up. “A smile looks so much better on you than that frown that can't decide whether it's hurt or angry.”

“I just-” Felicity sighed, resting her chin in her palm and attempting a weak smile for Roy. “I miss him, you know? It's harder than I thought, having him here but not having him back. Looking at him now hurts, and I know there's nothing I can do to make any of this better.”

“Have you tried calling Thea?” Roy asked casually, like he couldn't possibly be any less interested. 

Rolling her eyes, Felicity nodded. “That was the first thing I thought of. She said he seems okay when he's home, but he doesn't spend a lot of time at the loft so she can't really say one way or the other.”

“If he's not home and he's not at the Foundry, where the hell is he?” 

Felicity shrugged, fidgeting with the straw of her drink. “Thea has no idea. He won't tell her anything when she asks, just says he has things to do. I don't get it, either, to be honest. I mean, they've talked about the whole 'masked superhero' thing since he got home. It's not like he can't just tell her when he has to pull Arrow duty.”

Roy hummed around the fries in his mouth before swallowing and asking, “How did he handle hearing that she knew about his secret?”

“She said he didn't even seem surprised.” Felicity repeated Thea's report. “Who knows, maybe he was just waiting for her to make the connection and was relieved when she finally did? We all know how much he hates keeping secrets from her, especially after promising that there'd be no more lies between them.”

“Maybe all the secrecy stuff is because of what happened with Sara.” Roy suggested, pushing his burger aside. “I mean, Thea still doesn't know that Malcolm forced her to kill Sara or that Oliver took the fall for it. That's bound to put a strain on their relationship, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Felicity allowed, chewing the inside of her cheek. “But that still doesn't explain why he's keeping things from us.”

Roy was silent for a long minute, like he was actually thinking through her point. “Okay,” he said eventually, “let's assume that Oliver is up to something he doesn't want any of us to know about, including Thea.” Felicity nodded, and Roy continued, “We already know that this thing with LaCroix is a need-to-know situation that Oliver apparently decided we don't need to know about. Maybe that's what's got him acting all squirrely.”

“What if it's more than that, though?” Felicity asked hesitantly, unsure how much her mind was running away with her and how much was based in actual fact. 

“More, as in...?”

“When Oliver told me about coming back, how it changed him...” Felicity stopped, had to fight down a surge of pain in her chest at the memory and was grateful when Roy reached across the table to wrap his hand around hers. “He said that Malcolm was the one who brought him back.”

Roy went tense at that bit of information, and Felicity hurried on.

“What if Malcolm is holding that over him? I mean, we all know that Merlyn doesn't do anything for free, or out of the goodness of his shriveled, blackened heart. Hell, he used his own daughter to ensure Oliver would face Ra's. What's to stop him from using Oliver for his own nefarious purposes all over again?”

“Oliver would never agree to that.” Roy reasoned, eyes hard and angry. “He would never let Malcolm use him as a weapon.”

“Not willingly.” Felicity conceded. “But, Oliver's not himself right now, and Malcolm knows exactly how to manipulate him. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if this entire mess with Oliver's memories – his emotions – If all of it is part of Malcolm's plan.”

“Plan for what?” Roy questioned, his mind whirring behind his eyes, like he was trying to tie together bits of information he hadn't realized belonged together in the first place. 

“I have no idea.” Felicity sighed, giving Roy's hand a squeeze. “But whatever is going on, I'm willing to bet Thea and Oliver are at the very center of it.”

“How does LaCroix fit into this?” 

“I haven't figured that out yet.” she admitted. “But there is something going on here, Roy, something that is screwing with Oliver's head. We have to figure out what, before he does something he can't take back.”

 

* 

 

Watching Felicity and Roy through the Big Belly Burger window was probably edging dangerously close to stalker territory – not that watching them sleep through Felicity's bedroom window wasn't up there – but Oliver couldn't bring himself to look away. He perched on the roof of an adjacent building, crouched low and trying to ignore the fire burning in his gut as he watched Felicity's shoulders relax the moment Roy reached across the table for her hand.

“See anything interesting?” 

Oliver growled low under his breath, not bothering to turn around to see to whom the voice belonged.

“What do you want from me now, Malcolm?” he asked in a bored tone, eyes never leaving the couple across the street. “I took care of LaCroix and Thea still has no idea that you're a psychotic, horrible excuse for a father. That really should be enough to tide you over for a few days.”

“Oh, Oliver.” Malcolm tsked, anger obvious in his tone. “I'd like to say it amuses me, your current definition of the term 'took care of', but to be perfectly honest, it just pisses me off.”

Oliver did turn then, brow furrowed and scowl dark as he rose to his feet. “He's not going to tell anyone about his dealings with you, and he gave up his info on Ra's' movements. That's enough.”

“What is or is not enough is not for you to decide, Oliver.” Merlyn barked, hands fisted at his sides. “I gave you an order and I expected you to follow it. Instead, I get a call from one of my men, telling me that Charles LaCroix is being released from Glades Memorial this afternoon, instead of lying in the morgue as he was meant to be.”

“I told you that-”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Malcolm sneered, waving away Oliver's interruption. “You made a promise to my son that you would no longer take human lives. Though, let's be honest with one another, hmm? You've broken that vow at least once, already, have you not?” 

Oliver tensed, middle and forefinger rubbing circles against his thumb. 

“You killed Count Vertigo, correct? In defense of your – Oh, what are they calling them these days? – your boo? Or maybe you prefer the more classical, paramour?” 

Oliver made a threatening sound in his chest, felt his lungs vibrate with it.

“Well, that's neither here nor there, is it? The point is, you chose to save Felicity over your vow to Tommy, and now you need to choose the same way. Except, this time, you're choosing to save your baby sister. That's got to mean something to you, Oliver. Your sister's life? At least as much as Felicity Smoak's, I would assume.”

“I am not a killer anymore.” Oliver reiterated, his own voice rough with tightly reigned rage. “Not because one life means more than another, but because _I chose_ not to be. I may not remember loving Tommy, but I do remember how much I meant it when I made him that promise. I won't go back on it now.”

Merlyn narrowed his eyes, seemingly sizing Oliver up, the intensity in his gaze enough to make Oliver wish to look away.

“You will do this for me, Oliver, and you will do it soon.” Malcolm ordered, each word dripping with unspoken threat. “I would detest having to offer up my only living child, my own daughter, to Ra's in order to secure my survival, but I will do whatever it takes to stay alive, and we both know that. Ra's is coming. It may be sooner than either of us would like, but he is on his way, and when he gets here he is going to be absolutely furious. Do you want him taking that murderous rage out on Thea? Maybe even Felicity and the rest of your team?”

“Felicity and my team have nothing to do with this!” Oliver shouted, the cords of his neck straining in his anger. 

“They knew you were alive, they harbored you.” Malcolm pointed out. “And do you think Ra's unaware of your feelings for Miss Smoak? Do you truly believe him to be that naïve, or Nyssa above giving her father the information he needs to cripple you? You may not love her anymore, Oliver, but that hardly matters. One look in your eyes when he threatens Felicity's life, and Ra's will know you still value her life over your own, that you still feel _something_ for her.”

Oliver's teeth clenched hard, grinding together so fiercely his jaw ached. He couldn't argue that, not honestly. What Merlyn said was true and they both knew it. Felicity still meant something to him, even if he wasn't even remotely sure what that was anymore. He couldn't risk her or Thea, or anyone else getting hurt because of him.

“Say I do this.” Oliver said, fighting the gritting of his teeth. “Say that I kill LaCroix. What does that solve? Ra's is still coming, and he is still going to come after both of us.”

“Let me worry about that, son.” Malcolm smirked, like he knew he had Oliver right where he wanted him. “You just do as you're told, and all of this will take care of itself. Thea will go on living her life, as will your sweet Felicity and the rest of your team, and Ra's will get the vengeance for Sara's murder that he so desperately seeks.”

Oliver glared but said nothing, holding himself rigidly still while Malcolm gave a short dip of his chin and a cocky smile before turning and heading for the opposite side of the roof.

“Oh, and Oliver,” Merlyn called back when he reached to roof's edge, “you have twenty-four hours to kill LaCroix. I suggest you not waste any more time stalking your girlfriend and her boyfriend, and get to work.”

Oliver nearly punched a hole in the brick wall beside him.

 

*

 

“Let's do something tonight.” Roy suggested as he helped Felicity into her jacket half an hour later. 

Felicity snorted indelicately, pulling her hair free from her coat. “Just because Oliver decided to give everyone the night off, you think it's a cause for celebration?”

Roy cocked one brow, smiling as he held the door open for her. “I think the fact that we've all survived two weeks of 'Iceman Oliver' is cause for celebration.” he corrected, following her out onto the sidewalk. “Come on, Felicity! You've been miserable since he got back, and I have never had so many bruises.” His smile widened when Felicity laughed. “Let me take you out for a few drinks, maybe some dancing. We don't even have to go to Verdant!” he faked a gasp, eyes big and round.

Shoving him playfully, Felicity shook her head fondly and snuggled down deeper into her jacket, bracing against the cold wind whipping past them. “I don't know if that's a good idea, Roy. With everything going on-”

“That's exactly why it's a great idea.” he interrupted, tossing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. “There is too much bullshit in our lives right now, Blondie. We need a night to blow off some steam, to drink too much and dance our faces off. When are we going to get another chance to do this?”

Felicity nibbled her bottom lip, debating. Maybe Roy had a point, after all. Nights off from Arrow duty were few and far between, and with the way things were looking they'd be even more rare in the coming weeks. Between Oliver's current predicament and the League's inevitable retaliation for Oliver's continued existence, their lives were going to get a hell of a lot more complicated, and quick. Taking a night to just be with friends, to simply live for a little while, sounded more and more appealing the longer she thought about it.

“Alright, you know what, why not?” Felicity agreed. “Let's do it.”


	4. Avalanche

Stumbling her way into the club was probably an awful sign for the night ahead, but Felicity shrugged it off, squaring her shoulders determinedly before ducking inside the club. She spotted Roy from halfway across the room, his back against the bar and his eyes scanning the crowd. He grinned wide and welcoming when he saw her, gestured behind him at the bartender before pushing off his stool to stride through the crowd to meet her.

“You look amazing.” he greeted, pulling her in against his chest.

She rolled her eyes, but wrapped her arms around his back. “My feet already hurt.”

Roy pulled back, looking down between them at the neon orange skyscraper heels she was balancing on. “I can see why.” he cocked a brow up, settling his hand in the small of her back as he guided her back toward where he’d been sitting.

“Oh, shut up.” She climbed up onto the empty stool beside Roy’s, pulling the hem of her navy blue dress down when it rode up to mid-thigh. “I don’t often get the chance to wear club clothes, especially lately.” 

“You won’t hear any complaints from me.” Roy shrugged, something bright glinting in the depths of his eyes.

He handed her the drink he’d ordered, plucking the lime wedge of its rim and popping it into his mouth with a grin. Felicity sipped at the minty concoction, licking across her bottom lip to swipe at some sugar crystals clinging to her lipstick. 

Roy cleared his throat, blinking a few times in rapid succession as he looked away, dropping the lime down onto his napkin. “So, what do you want to do first?” he asked, tipping his head toward the packed dance floor. “Shots or a dance?”

“Shots.” she answered quickly, already flagging down the bartender again. “I need to be at least three shots deep before I subject the general public to my dance moves.”

Chuckling before tossing back a shot of something clear, Roy set his glass down with a thunk and shook off the alcohol’s burn. “I’ve seen you move, Felicity.” 

It was her turn to kink a brow at him. He shrugged again, but his mouth turned up at the corner and Felicity felt herself blush. “Then you know what a spaz I am when I dance.” 

“Sure.” Roy’s twitching lips pulled into a full-blown smirk, edges sharp and unrepentant. “We’ll go with that.”

Felicity reached out and slapped him playfully on the arm, smiling her thanks when the bartender set a row of shots down in front of them.

“Alright, Harper.” she announced, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose and tossing her hair over one shoulder. “Let’s do this.”

 

*

 

The lair was dark, no lights illuminated except the ones in Oliver and Roy’s costume cases. Oliver paced in shadow, jaw set hard and shoulders rigid. Every so often he let his eyes slide up to the clock on the wall, stomach clenching uncomfortably with every passing moment.

“You okay, man?” 

Oliver jumped, one hand automatically reaching for the quiver not currently sitting at his shoulder. He caught himself before he completed the movement, instead running his hand through his hair in the hopes that Digg wouldn’t think anything of the aborted gesture.

“I’m fine.” he lied.

Digg gave him an unimpressed look, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t speak, just waited.

“Really, Digg, I’m alright.” Oliver assured, forcing his feet to still in their repetitive path. “Just got a lot going on in here.” he admitted, waving a hand at his temple.

Digg’s expression softened. “If you want to talk about it…”

“I know.” Oliver dipped his chin in acknowledgement, carefully avoiding meeting Digg’s eye. 

“Call me if you need anything, yeah?” John prompted, slipping into his jacket. 

“You heading out?” Oliver questioned, attempting to keep his tone casual.

John simply nodded. “I promised Roy and Felicity I’d meet them for a drink before I went home for the night.”

Tamping down on the growl threatening to spill from his lips, Oliver offered what he hoped was a convincing smile. It probably looked more like a grimace, but there wasn’t any helping that, so he didn’t bother. “Have a good time.” he said instead, aware that his voice sounded wrong.

Diggle hesitated, but shook his head and headed for the stairs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Oliver.”

“Yeah,” Oliver mumbled, more to himself than anything. “Tomorrow.”

John was barely gone five minutes before Oliver grabbed his leathers from their case and headed for his bow.

 

*

 

“John!” Felicity practically squealed, launching off of her stool and throwing her arms around the man’s neck as soon as she caught sight of him. 

He huffed a breath out from her collision with his chest, but wrapped an arm around her waist all the same. “Hey, Felicity.” he laughed, then over her shoulder to Roy, “How much has she had to drink?”

Roy swiped a hand over his mouth, shaking his head in amusement. “A bit.”

“Obviously.”

“I thought you were gonna bring Lyla?” Felicity pouted up at him, fisting her hands on her hips and furrowing her brow.

“She wasn’t feeling well, said to tell you to call her tomorrow.” 

Sighing her acceptance, Felicity climbed back up on her seat, swinging it a bit from side to side before she settled. “Want a drink?” she asked, leaning way too far over the bar counter to wave down their bartender.

Digg glanced at Roy, who only shrugged, and relented. “Yeah.” he agreed. “Just one or two, though. I want to get home to Sara before Lyla has to get up with her.” Felicity wasn’t much listening, too busy telling the bartender what exactly went into a Jack and Coke, so Digg turned his full attention on Roy. “Neither one of you is driving out of here tonight.” 

Roy didn’t argue, just dropped Felicity’s car keys into the palm John held toward him. “Wasn’t planning on driving, anyway.” he promised. “I was gonna call a cab.”

“Not going to happen.” Digg pocketed the keys. “I’ll drive you guys home.”

“Yay!” Felicity swung around on her stool, nearly spilling the drink she held into her lap. “Does that mean you’ll stay and dance with me?” she asked, eyes big and round, shining bright under the club lights.

John chuckled, stripping out of his jacket and tossing it over the back of her seat. “Sure, Felicity. Whatever you want.”

 

*

 

The shadows never seemed to release Oliver, anymore. Everywhere he went, everything he did, the shadows clung to him like barnacles. Inside his head, against his skin and over his eyes, the shadows stayed constant. 

Inescapable.

Unless Felicity was nearby, he reminded himself with a tendril of some foreign, uncomfortable feeling unfurling in his chest. He recalled how surprised he’d always been when the shadows slunk back, just enough to let him breathe, whenever Felicity entered a room. They retreated at the mere sight of her, hovering around the edges of Oliver’s vision, waiting. It was as though she burned them away, like some part of him inherently knew that she was the only source of light he could trust to banish the darkness lingering around him.

With a quiet grunt grating in the hollow cavity of his chest, Oliver widened his stance, shifting his knees a bit further apart so he could press closer to the wall he was using as coverage. The sounds of the city echoed far beneath his position, sounding muted and distant though he was only a few stories above. He listened intently, cocked his head to one side to listen for the telltale sound of someone entering LaCroix’s apartment.

For someone who made a fortune off of selling drugs, to high school students and supervillains alike, LaCroix lived in a shitty neighborhood, in an even shittier fourth floor walk-up apartment. The building’s brick exterior was crumbling, red dust coating the sidewalk below. LaCroix didn’t even have a dog, much less a security system. Oliver wondered briefly over why LaCroix hadn’t hired some muscle after the last attempt on his life, but assumed he never really imagined that the Arrow would return. After all, he’d given his warning, encouraged him to keep his mouth shut and shot an arrow into his shoulder just to make sure the point was crystal clear. LaCroix probably thought that was the end of it.

Of course, with Merlyn involved, there was never truly going to be an end.

 

*

 

Pressed in tight to Roy’s chest, her chin tucked into the curve of his shoulder and her weight resting almost completely against him, Felicity was content. She swayed in place, letting Roy guide her and trusting him to keep her standing. The soft throb of the music’s beat reverberated behind her ribs, made her eyes sink closed and her brain swim pleasantly. 

It’s not that she was drunk, exactly, she was just…

Okay, yeah, she was a little drunk. She was entitled to it, though, especially after everything she’d been through in the last few months. Why shouldn’t she let loose a little, let her hair down and enjoy the feeling of being held in someone’s arms? What was so wrong with wanting to feel safe when your entire world felt like it was falling apart around you?

“Maybe we should get you home.” Roy murmured softly, his lips close to her ear. “You feel like you’re falling asleep where you stand.”

Felicity pushed away from his chest, shaking her head. “I’m awake,” she protested, blinking quickly to show that her eyes were, indeed, open. “I’m just _super_ comfortable.”

One side of his mouth quirked up, that _something_ from earlier creeping back into his eyes. “Good to know you’re comfortable with my arms around you.”

Felicity snorted. “Of course I am! How could I sleep with you if I didn’t like being in your arms?”

Roy bit his lips together, shoulder shaking silently.

“Crap. Ugh, you know what I meant.” 

“Come on, let’s go back to your place.” Roy suggested, tugging her hand gently until she let him lead her toward where Digg was sitting at the bar.

“I’m not ready to go to bed yet, though, so we have to stop and get ice cream.” Felicity bartered, wobbling a bit with each step. “There are like six episodes of Supernatural on my DVR that need to be watched.”

Roy sighed, long and loud, like he thought she had no idea he actually loved the show. Felicity secretly wondered if Roy thought of Oliver as his Dean—the one who taught him everything he knew, taught him how to be who he was now. She wasn’t sure if that made Roy Cas or Sam in the equation, but she hadn’t really wanted to think too hard about that point. 

Hell, at least it didn’t make him Crowley.

“Malcolm is totally Metatron.” she declared suddenly, practically cackling when her mind made the comparison.

Roy glanced over his shoulder, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “What?”

Giggling to herself, she shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“You two about ready to call it a night?” Digg asked as they approached, setting his water down on the bar.

“No,” she responded honestly, “but Roy’s going to buy me ice cream, so I’m cool with it.”

Roy rolled his eyes, huffing a laugh as he slung his jacket around her shoulders. “Come on, Blondie. There’s a pint of mint chip out there with our names on it.”

 

*

 

The street below had settled, quieting down at a steady rate for the last half an hour. Oliver was getting restless. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about this job as it were, but he knew that if he didn’t get it done Malcolm would pull out all the stops in order to punish him.

The thought of Merlyn made Oliver’s rage burn in his chest, images of Thea flashing through his mind. This—everything he’d done, was continuing to do—it was all for Thea. He would do anything to protect her, to keep her out of Malcolm’s hands. Even if that meant breaking his vow to Tommy, or shoving down the sparks of whatever it was he thought he might have once felt for Felicity, he would do it. 

Thea’s survival outweighed everything else.

The sound of the front door opening beneath him caught his attention. Oliver held his breath, waiting until the sound of footsteps faded toward the back of the apartment. Sliding his mask back into place over his eyes, Oliver stood upright. He pushed himself up to straddle the lip of the roof, swinging his legs out and using the building beside him as leverage to pull his weight a few feet to the left. He landed on LaCroix’s fire escape with barely a sound from his boots making contact, but winced when the rusted metal creaked ominously beneath him. Moving on reflex, Oliver braced himself against the wall, using the lip of the window’s frame to lift himself up out of view. 

He listened intently, was unsurprised to hear the curtains rustle below him. Remaining stock still, Oliver heard the window open and waited. The window closed again after a moment of silence, the soft sound of the lock sliding into place immediately followed by the sound of what Oliver thought was LaCroix’s bedroom door closing with a quiet snick. He waited another minute before he risked moving, then shifted to find footing on the concrete windowsill, avoiding the fire escape altogether.

It didn’t take much for him to flip the window’s lock open again. One precise swipe of a blade between the window panes and the lock gave way without a sound. Oliver was a little disappointed, honestly, with how easy it was to get to LaCroix this time. At least the last time he’d had to knock out a bodyguard or two to get into the apartment. The lack of barriers to his target made him wary, but he continued on his mission, his sister’s face hovering in his mind’s eye like a glaring reminder of why he was here at all.

Senses on high alert, skin prickling with an awareness he couldn’t place, Oliver let himself inside. He moved silently through the apartment, side stepping clothes and other clutter that were strewn all over the floor. Nocking an arrow, Oliver pressed his back into the wall and took a steadying breath. He leaned around the corner, heart falling down toward his feet in a sickening swoop.

He hadn’t been prepared to come face to face with the barrel of a gun.

 

*

 

Tucked under Roy’s arm on her sofa, Felicity pulled her knit blanket more snugly around her. She enjoyed being snuggled close together, a blanket around their shoulders and a pint of ice cream shared between them. Her inebriation had mostly worn off by then, thanks to the pizza and ice cream Roy forced her to eat, but she was still warm and completely at ease. She smiled whenever Roy laughed at Sam and Dean’s one liners, laughed with him at Cas’ endearing obliviousness, and awww’d all by herself at the budding relationship between Dean and Cas’ pseudo-daughter, Claire.

“I don’t get it.” Roy said, frowning.

“Of course you don’t.” Felicity agreed, swallowing down a spoonful of ice cream. “They’re not your OTP.” 

Roy looked at her like she’d suddenly sprouted another head. “My what?”

“Your OTP.” She lifted one shoulder, ignoring her sweater as it slipped down her arm. “Dean and Cas. You don’t ship them, do you?”

If possible, Roy looked even more confused. “Ship?”

“Yeah,” Felicity stabbed her spoon into the pint. “Like, you don’t want to see them in a relationship, right? So, you don’t ship them.”

“Okay…” Roy frowned, like he’d never thought about it and wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it now that he had. “So, what’s an OTP?”

“One True Pairing.” Felicity explained around a mouthful. “It means-“

“I think I get it.” Roy cut in, humor dancing in his eyes. “So, Dean and Cas? That’s your OTP or whatever?”

“For this show, yeah. I have tons more, though. Don’t even get me started on this, okay? We’ll be here all night.”

Roy’s shoulders lifted and when he spoke his voice was warm and sincere. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Felicity’s gaze flicked up to meet his eyes, catching that same glittering wisp of whatever it was she’d seen earlier. She swallowed thickly, feeling her cheeks heat up. Roy’s eyes skipped down to her lips, just for a second, and then they were meeting hers again.

“You got big plans or something?” he teased.

Or, she thought he was trying to tease her, anyway. The way it came out sounded wrong, though, like his voice had been dragged over hot coals and broken glass. 

“No,” she denied softly. “No plans.”

Silence hung between them for a moment, thick with a tension that hadn’t always been there.

“Felicity, I-“

“Did you hear that?” she interrupted, craning her head over the back of the couch to glance toward her front door and the window beside it.

Roy listened, then shook his head. “What did you hear?”

“I don’t know. It sounded like a cat or something was on the porch.”

“Doesn’t your neighbor have a cat?” he asked.

“Yeah.” she replied slowly, turning her attention back to their conversation. “Sorry, what were you going to say?”

Roy dragged a hand over his face, shifting around so that he was angled more toward her. “I just- Look, I know that you’re in love with Oliver, and I’m all kinds of hung up on Thea, and this is probably the worst idea in the history of ideas, but I have to know.”

“Have to know wha-”

She wasn’t all the surprised when Roy leaned in and kissed her. She would have been more surprised if he hadn’t, actually. Once upon a time, she probably would have been shocked by the feeling of his lips pressing into hers, but things were different between them now. Everything was different. She and Roy had spent so much time together over the last few months, shared a living space, shared a bed… It was a wonder this hadn’t happened sooner, really.

Felicity thought about pulling away, of what would happen if she pushed him away gently and told him that she loved him, but she was in love with Oliver and this couldn’t happen. But then, she thought about how nice it was to feel wanted. How nice it was to feel someone else’s lips against hers, another person’s skin warm and soft where it met hers. She let herself think about Roy, of how much she truly did love him. She remembered the way he’d been there for her though the worst of Oliver being gone, how he’d let her cry on his shoulder a thousand times over and never judged her for a second. She let herself recall the way they laughed together, the way they fit. Their relationship, their friendship, was natural, fulfilling. Roy meant the world to her.

So, instead of pulling away, Felicity leaned into Roy’s kiss. She let him wrap an arm around her back, let him pull her closer to his chest and flick his tongue against her bottom lip. She let him nip at her mouth and cradle her jaw with one hand, meeting him with equal interest. Felicity kissed him, breathed in the scent of mint on his breath, so very different than the last time she kissed someone. Roy’s hands were smaller, smoother than Oliver’s, and he held her like she was something fragile and precious, and it was…

Nice.

It wasn’t earth shattering, or pole reversing, or mind-jellying the way she knew it could be. It was just nice and sweet. But nice was okay, wasn’t it? For something that wasn’t really anything at all, sweet and nice were both good things. 

A sudden loud thud from the front porch had the two of them springing apart, Roy moving cautiously toward the door before Felicity could even blink. 

“Roy, be careful.” she called quietly, reaching for the phone in the pocket of her hoodie while she tried to swallow her heart out of her throat.

He didn’t respond, just inched closer and closer to the door, hand extended forward like he was bracing for it to explode inward. When it didn’t budge, Roy reached for the handle and pulled.

It was silent in the apartment for all of a beat, the total lack of sound almost oppressive. But then Roy’s voice went so tight Felicity thought he was going to strain something, a single word strangling itself out of his throat. 

“Oliver?!”

 

*

 

He didn’t know what he was thinking heading straight for her apartment. It made absolutely zero sense, but his body carried him in her direction before his brain could think about what it was doing. All Oliver knew was that Felicity felt like safety, like home, and there was nowhere else in the world he could go with a bullet wound splitting his cheek, stretched diagonally from right beneath where his mask ended and back into his hairline, the length and width of a magic marker. His skin was burned raw around the edges of the wound, blistering from one end to the other, and he was never more grateful to Barry for making sure he wore a mask.

There was blood dripping in a constant trickle down Oliver’s face, turning the front of his leathers into what closely resembled an oil slick. He skidded to stop in front of Felicity’s apartment, not bothering to throw down the kickstand before he stumbled toward her porch. He tripped on the bottom step, landing hard on his elbows and grunting with pain, the sound of his bolts clinking together in his quiver making his head pound and his stomach roil.

After a moment spent collecting himself, Oliver hauled himself upright and staggered the rest of the way up Felicity’s porch steps. He didn’t hear anything inside but the light was on, so he peered in through the window to see if maybe she’d fallen asleep on the couch. 

The breath was sucked out of his lungs when he caught sight of Felicity. She was definitely on the couch, but she absolutely was not sleeping. Oliver’s stomach rolled again, his lunch threatening to make a reappearance. Felicity, _his Felicity_ , was just inside, Roy’s lips fused to hers like they belonged, like they had any right to be there.

Another wave of nausea assaulted him, making his head spin. Something deep inside Oliver’s chest cracked, so painfully that he actually had to look down at his sternum to make sure he hadn’t been shot again. His body trembled like a leaf in a hurricane, his skin breaking out in cold, clammy sweat as his vision swam before his eyes. Heat poured through Oliver like molten lead, unpleasant in all possible ways. His breath lodged somewhere in his throat, couldn’t make its way past the sheer volume of everything surging through him at that moment.

Memory after memory slammed through Oliver, enough force behind them to drop him to his knees with a sound like a whip crack. His kneecaps would be bruised for weeks, but the only thing Oliver could feel was the pain of thirty years’ worth of emotions tearing into him at once, cutting through flesh and sinew, straight down to bone—deep into his soul.

His father’s death. Tommy, his mother, Sara… Hundreds more. Everything, from the tiniest emotion to the most devastating blows, they flooded his system, overwhelming him to the point of blacking out. Fighting to stay conscious, Oliver clung to the windowsill, sagging under the weight of everything pressing him down, into the darkness. 

A flash of sunlight blasted inside his head, threatened to split his skull clean in half. A kaleidoscope of colors exploding behind his eyelids made Oliver clutch at his head, the spiral of color topped off with a flash of magenta lips and aqua eyes.

Oh, God. _Felicity_.

The joy written in every line of her body when he walked back into the lair. The shock when he pushed her away. Confusion and agony haunting her expression when he told her he didn’t love her anymore, actual fear when he’d grabbed her, bruised her wrist… 

The sight of her kissing Roy.

The promised repeat performance of Oliver’s lunch chose that moment to make its debut, and Oliver succumbed to the blissful pull of unconsciousness.


End file.
